Gunshots and Galas
by EmrysTheMerlin
Summary: It is 1913 and tensions are running high as the world stands on the brink of war. England has no choice but to see his former colony again. But has she changed so much that he doesn't know her anymore? And what are these rumors of her being able to out shoot anyone in the west? Shootouts and arguments, pre world war 1
1. Chapter 1

Gunshots and Galas

**Authors Note: This is a follow up piece to my revolutionary war story, ****_The Price of Freedom_****. It takes place right before World War 1. Now there's a lot of mixed history and fantasy here. Meaning I talked to a friend of mine who has an obsession with weapons. We spent three hours, or something like that, just working out what weapons were proper to use and how to conceal a holster under a dress. He was insanely helpful and is the only reason there is anything slightly historical here. All the information I use about guns here comes from him as I know almost nothing about them. So I would just like to thank him again and say that this was going to be a one-shot but when I wrote it out it was very long. 10 and a half pages on paper at my final count. This could also be seen as a distant follow up to my other Hetalia piece ****_Princesses and Pirates_****. But I digress. This note has gone on far too long. I OWN NOTHING. Please review. There aren't any real translations here.**

1. Glasses and Gold

_1913_

To say that England was nervous was probably the understatement of the century. He hadn't seen his former sister since he had stormed out of her house after the Revolutionary War. He had heard rumors of her current situation but most were from France, so he ignored them. Some were impossible to miss, like her people's invention of the air plane. But that was more believable than some of the other poppycock France had come up with, like all this talk of some outlaws she had hunted down herself. Ridiculous.

But with the rising tensions in Europe England had cleverly set up a diplomatic ball and lest he risk losing a valuable ally, and even more of the sister he remembered, he invited America.

Now, with the party in full swing around him he saw neither hide nor blonde hair of his former colony. He sipped a glass of champagne and scanned the room again. He knew everyone was here, except his little brother Australia. He could sense all eleven nations on his soil but he couldn't find her. France was flirting with Romano and Italy as Spain glared. Canada was dancing with Whales, her brown curls bouncing as she twirled. Scotland and Ireland were trying to get Japan to try whiskey and Russia was dancing with a blonde in a flowing gold dress.

Russia was dressed in a nearly obscene amount of finery, complete with the metals and blue sash his boss wore. England's eyes lingered on the woman he was dancing with. She practically floated across the floor. She was nearly as tall as Russia with short but elegant hair and wire frame glasses. Several golden bracelets chimed around her wrists as the powerful nation spun her gracefully. England hadn't noticed her before which was a shame.

She was beautiful really, slim but full figured and tanned. He reasoned she was a diplomat; they were always changing with the years. America must be mingling among them, he thought. He would recognize her when he saw her; she couldn't avoid him forever after all.

He heard musical laughter and refocused on the girl Russia was dancing with. She was smiling at something he had said, she must not know who she was dancing with. Yet England focused on the larger countries face and saw a smile. It was as close to genuine as the strained country ever got these days. The song ended and he bowed to the woman, kissing her hand. She curtsied slightly and her medium length sleeves rippled shimmering in the light of the ballroom.

England set down his glass and made his way toward her. She had struck up a conversation with France, Romano, and Italy. France spotted England first and cleared his throat as he approached. The girl turned and the light of the chandeliers electric bulbs sparkled off her glasses, hiding her eye color behind a golden light. She seemed to have tensed but England dismissed it as nerves and extended his gloved hand to her.

"May I have the next dance Miss?" France was laughing behind her which England thought was rude but he made no comment. The countries tried to be civil in front of their people. She nodded glaring at France. She took his hand and as a waltz began to play he led her out onto the floor. They began to waltz as several other pairs joined them on the floor. Spain had pulled a reluctant Romano onto the floor and Canada had saved Italy from France. Several dignitaries, each from a different country swept onto the floor as well. France, Scotland and Ireland were watching England and his partner.

"You look lovely." He complimented the picture of diplomacy. She glared down at him, she was a head taller than him, and he finally saw her eye color. He almost froze mid waltz but her foot brushed over his and he continued the dance mechanically.

"You seem to be doing well too Arthur." Amelia F. Jones commented her tone light and only a little annoyed. Her height made the dance a little more awkward but they danced with all the grace two countries should show each other. Yet both avoided the others eyes.

"How have you been?" England asked as the never ending dance dragged on.

"Busy." He rolled his eyes at her curt reply.

"Care to elaborate? I haven't seen you in quite some time. You've grown." He had heard of the expansion into the wilds of the west at her home but he had never dreamed his little sister would be taller than him. In fact her height was only rivaled by Russia's.

"You seem to have shrunk a little." She grinned, avoiding the question. He huffed.

"That is not possible. How did you get to be so tall? And why glasses? I never knew you needed those." She shrugged lightly.

"Well neither did I until Benjamin Franklin invented bifocals. After that the world became much cleared." She grinned at her own joke and he chuckled despite himself.

"That was quite amusing." She rolled her eyes at him the way she used to. For a moment there was no tension, no memory of gunshots and muskets in the mud. For a moment it seemed to be just the two of them, like things used to be.

But then the song ended and the rest of the world burst back into their shining illusion. America tensed and took her hand out of his. He bowed stiffly to her, all comfort gone as resentment bubbled under the surface.

"You should wear a dress more often. You look lovely, you truly do." Amelia glared as she curtsied slightly. As she did he noticed the necklace that rested around her slim tanned neck. On a shiny new gold chain rested an old pendant. He knew that symbol, Scotland. He was about to turn and glare at his estranged older brother but something caught his eye. Almost hidden by the neckline of her dress was a scar. It was thin and England instantly began mentally comparing it to weapons. Then her blazing blue eyes caught his attention and he excused himself.

America wandered grumpily up over to where Canada and Italy were talking. The large feather on the wide brimmed hat Italy wore was ticking the nose of the polar bear Canada carried around like the child he still was. America stepped up to Mathew's side and smiled at Feliciana, who began to babble away in Italian.

"Sorry Italy, I'm still learning. You'll have to slow down a little please." The pretty girl smiled and complied, even switching to English for Canada's benefit.

"Ve, I love you're dress Amelia. It is so pretty! And your fratello is a very nice dancer!" America smiled down at her brother.

"Well I'll have to test that one won't I? Last time we did this I wasn't very good at it either. Would you like to see if we step on each other's toes this time?" Mathew smiled and one of his dignitaries took the polar bear.

"If you'll excuse us Feliciana, I think Lovina's headed this way so you won't be lonely for long." America let Canada take her hand and lead her out onto the floor. As they began to dance America looked over at England who stood next to France. Canada, who had made up with his sister shortly after her civil war, noticed her glance.

"Penny pou vos pensees?" He asked testing her French. He had been teaching her and she was getting better. She was quiet for a moment then she spoke, glancing down at her brother.

"He didn't recognize me Mattie. At all. I could see it in his eyes. I came here to try and see if he was willing to talk to me again at least." Her blue eyes looked sad behind her glasses. Mathew looked like a child dancing with her as she was a full head taller than him.

"I'm sorry sis." She sighed.

"I thought he wanted to make up, when I got the invitation. He really just doesn't care does he?" Canada had no idea what to tell her.

**Translations, so there are a couple. Google translate is to thank for them.**

**Fratello: Brother (Italian)**

**Penny pour vos pensees: Penny for your thoughts (French)**


	2. Meanwhile

2. Meanwhile…

**Authors note: Sorry for the wait. I got a cold. Anyway a couple of translations here, all due to my several years in French class. I OWN NOTHING!**

France intercepted England before he could talk to Scotland. England accepted the glass of wine that France offered him and took a sip. He watched as Mathew led Amelia out onto the floor.

"So l'Angleterre you did not know zat zat was Amérique did you?" England glanced at France, when he saw that Francis was asking a serious question not mocking him, he shook his head.

"No, I didn't recognize her at all. She seems so much, older? More mature? I'm not sure what it is but she's different." France smiled.

"Oui. She has grown quite a lot while you were busy stewing mon ami." England took a sip of his wine.

"She's got a new scar, on her left shoulder. It goes all the way to her collar bone. Some kind of blade…" France nodded.

"Oui. A bayonet to be exact. Though that is an old scar."

"How did she get it?" France raised an eyebrow.

"Ze attempted usurper, called herself Confederate America. Ze civil war was very hard for her. She was almost torn in two. But she won, just barely. Took her a while to bounce back, especially because her boss was killed soon after ze war." England stared, forgetting the wine in his hand. France didn't seem to notice.

"But she has recovered well. She iz quite ze hero these days." He sipped his own wine thoughtfully. England stared at his former colony as she floated across the floor.

He couldn't help watching her as the night continued. She mixed well with everyone, even making Romano laugh which according to Spain was nearly impossible. He avoided talking to her as much as he could, not wishing to upset her.

America for her part was getting rather annoyed. Between France insinuating that she and England were going through a bad breakup and England's avoidance she was quite stressed. So about halfway through the party she slipped out onto the patio. She didn't realize that only England saw her go. He was rather worried so he followed her.

**Translations thank you French class.**

**L'Angleterre: England (French)**

**Amérique: America (French)**

**Oui: Yes (French)**

**Mon Ami: My friend (French) **


	3. The Hero in Action

3. The Hero in Action

**Authors note: Sorry for the wait on this one, I've been really busy. I would like to thank **_blueorgrey1236 _**for being the first to review. Big hugs go to you! Also I have a wild idea. I've seen several others do it and would like to try my hand at it. Those of you who read my stuff know how I write. I would like someone to request a story of me. Nothing M rated I'll go as high as T but no further for the moment. Please PM me to request. I'll veto or agree as I see fit. I STILL OWN NOTHING. No translations in this bit. Remember I'm using human names here along with the country. America is Amelia, England is Arthur, and Canada is Mathew. Also this is set pre world war 1, we thought smoking was cool back then.**

When he found her out on the terrace she was pulling a cigarette and a pack of matches out of her small purse. She hadn't seen him yet and lit the match one handed then lit the cigarette taking a deep pull on it. She puffed out smoke and spoke startling him.

"I know you're there Arthur. You may as well come out, unless of course you're just going to avoid me some more." She took another pull on her cigarette. England stepped into the moonlight from the shadow where he had most definitely _not_ been lurking.

"I have most certainly not been avoiding you. I was giving you a polite amount of space." She looked at him and rolled her eyes still puffing on her cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" He asked leaning slightly against the railing in front of him. It reminded him too much of Scotland and his cigars. She seemed to think for a moment her fathomless blue eyes gazing at nothing in particular. She still had that one piece of unruly hair on the top of her head that refused to behave England noted with a small smile.

"It's been a while. But I only really do it when I'm stressed." He raised a tragically thick eyebrow.

"Why are you stressed?" She rolled her eyes again and puffed another stream of smoke from her lips.

"I don't know. Let's see, my older brother, who hasn't spoken to me in I'm not even sure how long, invites me to a party at his house with a bunch of other countries I've either never met or know too well. Then it turns out he doesn't even recognize me!" Arthur started; he had hoped she hadn't noticed. He opened his mouth but she wasn't finished with him yet.

"Then, if that's not enough, after a few snide comments, and don't even say they weren't. I learned sarcasm from you and I'm still better at noticing it. He won't speak a word to me. Oh, until he decides to judge me for something he's been doing since I was little. So do I have something to be stressed about?" She thought for a moment before puffing on her cigarette and tapping the ash off onto the terrace.

"Can't think of anything in particular. Why?" He was stunned into silence for a moment. Then he straightened himself and spoke.

"I apologize. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable." She scowled down at him. Damn she was tall, he couldn't help thinking.

"No you didn't. You just didn't think it was worth actually trying to talk to me, ever again. Until there's a hint of trouble in the air. At least Mattie made an effort."

"You and Mathew are speaking again?" She nodded tapping the ash once more off her rapidly shortening cigarette.

"Yeah. He approached me a few years after the civil war. Said he was sorry and understood if I still hated him, even if I wanted to shoot him. But he wanted to make sure I was alright." She took a deep pull on her nearly spent cigarette.

"Mathew is a rather sweet chap." America nodded.

"He really is a sweetheart. And he made an effort, but you? Nothing, not after the civil war, not after the Louisiana Purchase, not even a note. Nothing! Ever! I knew you were a stubborn ass but I didn't realize you just don't care." She dropped her cigarette and ground it out.

"Amelia I…" She walked away not even letting him finish speaking.

Amelia walked to the far side of the ballroom to get herself a drink. The mirror behind the bar showed her the doors to the patio. England reentered the room and walked almost aimlessly toward one of the side walls. America took a sip of her wine when she saw the tan haired man step up behind England and bring his right arm to his chest. He pulled it down slightly and Amelia saw the glint of metal in his hand as he began to straighten his arm.

America pulled her Bowie knife out of her ankle holster with her left hand and threw it with perfect accuracy as she spun. Her right hand was already cocking her small concealed pistol as she pulled it out of her holster hidden under her dress on her left thigh.

A scream sounded as the knife, propelled by her immeasurable strength, hit sinking through the barrel of the would be assassins gun to the finger that held it steady. The crowd startled, moving instinctively toward the side walls and America shouted.

"Down!" Her people and Canada's instantly dropped flat to the floor leaving her shot clear. She took it then brought her left hand down as the first bullet sailed across the room. Easily re-cocking the pistol she fired again, just to be safe.

All this happened in a matter of seconds leaving a ringing silence in the large hall.

**Authors Note: Ok for those of you who have no clue what just happened here's an explanation for the assassins gun. He is using what is, or rather was, called a poker holster. Invented in America during the Wild West days when people started checking for guns in salons this clever device was used to conceal a small caliber weapon in the sleeve. It could be released by clicking the button, or buckle, on something hard such as a button through the sleeve. This would release the gun into one's hand. America would recognize this movement for what it was because she would have done it I have no doubt. I would like to thank my friend, who shall remain nameless, for being an expert on weaponry of every era. You were insanely helpful! Please review. Also of course she'd be armed! She's in the middle of her Wild West era! Well towards the end but still…**


	4. Big Brothers Denial

4. Big Brother's Denial

**Authors Note: Wow two typed in one day, I'm on a roll again. I STILL OWN NOTHING. This chapter makes a direct reference to my other story ****_Princesses and Pirates_****. I explain it, as much as is necessary for this story but to fully understand it you may want to read that one. Not required but advised. PLEASE REVIEW!**

England whirled to see America holding a smoking pistol in her right hand. Had she shot at him?! Then he looked behind him where the scream had come from. On the floor almost directly behind him was a man of medium height dressed in plain black. Between his eyes was a dark hole that was leaking red onto England's floor. Another hole directly over the man's heart wept red through his suit, dying it a darker shade of black. His hand caught England's attention next. A large knife stuck out of the small concealable revolver in his slack grip. Blood dripped from the finger that supported it.

His brown eyes were glassy and empty. Silence echoed around the room until someone began to clap. Everyone looked to the source and saw it was Scotland.

"Impressive shot lassie! One a the best I've seen. How 'bout I buy ye a drink?" The slightly shorter red head next to him looked incensed.

"I was gonna do that!" The two began to bicker and England cut across them both.

"Where in the bloody hell did you learn to do that America!?" She spun her gun around twice and re-holstered it under her skirt.

"Taught myself. You certainly wouldn't have." Scotland laughed and Ireland piped up.

" 'e certainly could ne have." There were a few scattered laughs and several of England's guards came to collect the body of the would be assassin. Before they took him away England retrieved the knife with a bit of difficulty. Australia, who had arrived a few minutes before Arthur and Amelia had had their talk on the balcony, looked over England's shoulder.

"Blimey! Now that's a knife!" England batted his hand away.

"Not for you, you convict." Australia laughed.

"Ye seem distracted mate; guess I'll leave ye to it." As he walked away England spotted Canada peeking over the table he had dived behind at Amelia's word. Russia made his excuses and left moments later, twitching slightly. Gunshots made him nervous these days. Canada sidled up to England.

"Are you ok Arthur?"

"What? Oh, yes. Thank you Mathew I'm quite alright." Canada sighed then watched as Amelia, ignoring the arguing red heads, bought her own drink.

"No matter how many times I see her do that I never get used to it." Canada commented hugging his polar bear. England, still in shock, didn't immediately process what he had said.

"What? Shooting people who might have been drawing the gun in defense?" Canada gazed at him, shocked.

"England, if she was the first one with the gun out he wouldn't have drawn his." England focused on Mathew fully his brain beginning to catch up with him.

"Why not?"

"Because she would have given him the opportunity. He'd be dead before his hand touched his gun." England fully processed what Mathew had said and almost jumped in surprise.

"She's done this before?!" He was shocked, Canada just nodded.

"You should see some of the salon brawls she's started. Finished too for that matter. It's kind of terrifying. My advice, don't ever play her at poker." America looked around at the mention of the card game and finally noticed the dignitaries still on the floor. She sighed.

"Y'all can get up now!" She called out and they complied. Her general brushed off his trousers.

"I must insist you give us more warning next time ma'am. But that was an excellent shot." She smirked, sipping her wine.

"Thanks."

"Should we take our leave now?" He asked looking over at England, their host. He didn't want her to leave. Not yet. America saw him shake his head slightly and spoke to her general.

"Nah. You know what I say; it's not a party until at least one gun is fired." Scotland and Ireland laughed, whole heartedly agreeing with her.

England didn't even notice France come up to him until he spoke.

"I told you she iz quite ze hero now. She does zings with guns I've never seen before." England jumped and nearly spilled wine on his nice jacket.

"No! She's still so young. There's no way she could do that much with a gun." France laughed.

"Mon ami, where do you think you get your machine guns?" England stared at him.

"The Louis? From you! I bought them from you!" France laughed and nodded.

"Oui, but when I bought zem from her zey said Maxim." France flipped his hair slightly as England stood stunned. He sidled up closer to him.

"So mon ami, we've all seen Amérique's shooter. Where's yours?" England glared at him.

"Bugger off you pervert." Spain chose that moment to walk up to the pair.

"Mi amigo! What's got you so uptight Inglaterra? America is quite impressive, si?"

"I swear Spain if you even think about it I'll…" France interrupted, grinning between the two of them.

"Oh ho! Didn't you know l'Anglettere? Espagne here was Amérique's first kiss." England snapped the stem of his wine glass and saw red.

"You were what?" Spain cowered before the glare of the pirate king. Though he had given up the sea long ago England had not lost his edge.

"It was years ago mi amigo, I thought you knew." England was practically steaming at the ears.

"I'd start running mon ami." Spain took France's advice and England tore after him.

**Translations in order. French class and Google **

**Mon ami: My friend (French)**

**Oui: Yes (French)**

**Mi amigo: My friend (Spanish)**

**Inglaterra: England (Spanish)**

**L'Angletere: England (French)**

**Espagne: Spain (French)**

**Amérique: America (French)**


	5. Garden of Memories

5. The Garden of Memories

**Authors Note: I STILL OWN NOTHING. Second to last part. Please let me know what you think, it gives me the motivation to keep writing. **

The others watched this for a time until the pair circled around the bar. America stuck her foot out, tripping England who fell head long. He looked up at her indignantly when she put her foot on his back to prevent him from rising.

"What?! Can't you see I'm trying to kill Spain!?" America nodded.

"Yes. Why are you trying to kill him?" England blushed the color of his favorite roses.

"H-he's… Well… I…."

"Do my ears deceive me or has the pirate king turned gentlemen lost his words?" Amelia laughed and Scotland grinned. England sputtered.

"Come on, you never do anything without a reason England. So what is it?" America teased, pushing him the way only she could.

"H-He... I… Because he was ungentlemanly." Amelia's gaze hardened and forced humor entered her voice.

"You tried to stab me with a bayonet. Sorry, but how is Spain the ungentlemanly one?" England froze as the air stilled in the room and America's dignitaries shook their heads.

"He… he… I... I'm.." Scotland chose that moment to speak up.

"Cat got yer tounge?" England snapped, blurting out his reasons like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

"He was your first kiss! Why didn't you ever tell me!?" She froze for a moment. Then she made him even angrier. She shrugged.

"So what? That was years ago. I've gotten over it. Why haven't you?" Her comment was casual enough, but it made England pause and think giving Spain enough time to make his escape. Which consisted of hiding behind France and Romano.

"Of course I'm over it." She let him up and he turned to Spain, eyes glinting with anger.

"My apologies Spain, I overreacted." Spain breathed a sigh of relief.

"No problema mi amigo." America sighed and Australia stepped up to her holding a deck of cards. His grin was missing a tooth and his necklace sported a very large fang.

"Eh mate, ye ever done a card…" She got the shot off before he could finish his sentence. The bullet went straight through the center of the deck into the wall behind him without so much as ruffling a hair on anyone's head.

"Does that answer your question, mate?" she asked then blew the smoke away from the barrel of her gun, which seemed to have materialized in her hand.

"Aye mate." America stood with a sigh and walked away.

"Excuse me." She said icily stepping on England's foot as she pushed past him. There was silence in the room for a moment before France commented.

"Well she always was a quick shot." There was scattered laughter and England took Amelia's abandoned place at the bar. He took a swig of wine and looked up to find Canada sitting down next to him. Alistor took another shot of whiskey and sighed.

"Ye really done it this time, eh Arthur?" He glared at his older brother.

"I haven't done anything you drunken Scotsman." Canada sighed shaking his head.

"Exactly Arthur." England raised an eyebrow, Canada sighed again.

"You didn't say thank you." Mathew explained. His bear nodded. England froze glass halfway to his lips. He was such an idiot. He was still holding her knife and he looked down at it thinking. Even if that shot had hit him he would have healed, he was a nation after all. But the intent to kill had been there. She had defended him without a thought after he had ignored her existence for so long, and he hadn't even thanked her.

Without a second thought he set down the glass and followed her outside, ignoring France. He found her next to his rose bushes, smoking again.

"You know I still love these. They're so pretty, always were." He nodded at her statement, no longer surprised that she didn't have to look to know it was him.

"They were my favorite too. But after a while all I found in the garden was bitter memories." It was true. Her favorite place to spend time with him had been the garden he had planted for her. Since the end of the Revolutionary War he had spent endless hours in his garden trying to fathom where he had gone wrong with her.

"I won't apologize for what I did all those years ago. I won't apologize for earning my freedom. That's not something I will ever do. I'm not sorry for being my own person. I'm not sorry for growing up." She was still gazing at the blood red roses, her cigarette forgotten in her hand.

"I would never expect you to apologize. You've grown so much, changed for the better. You've become more than I could have ever imagined." She laughed a little bitterly.

"You never had that much of an imagination." He laughed glancing at the fairies who watched from the trees and bushes.

"No I suppose I didn't. I've got you're knife." She finally looked at him, taking it back and sheathing it.

"Thank you Amelia, for everything. And if nothing else, I'm glad I had a hand in helping you become who you are now." They smiled at each other and for a moment England saw the young woman his former sister had become. They were equals now.


	6. Epilogue

6. Epilogue

**Authors note: I STILL OWN NOTHING! More after the story!**

A year later. A year that felt like an eternity, England sat alone in the stinking trench. It was raining again and this war was tearing the world apart. He refused to lose though, not to anyone. There was finally a lull in the fighting, at least for the moment, and he glanced up at the sound of planes in the sky. Please god, not more bombs he prayed silently. But the fully loaded fighter planes were flying toward the enemy trenches and soon the sound of explosions came, muffled by distance.

Footsteps, barely audible above the sounds of the bombers emptying their payload, caught his attention slapping in the mud. She walked up to him wearing green army fatigues and an aviator helmet with goggles haphazardly pushed up to the top of it. Her blonde hair stuck out from underneath the helmet and the brown jacket complimented her blue eyes.

She sat down next to him, adjusting the riffle on her shoulder. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She pulled one out and offered him the pack. He shook his head and she shrugged, patting down her pockets for her matches. He sighed and pulled out his own.

"Thanks Arthur." Amelia smiled, blowing a stream of smoke after he lit her cigarette.

"No, thank you Amelia." He knew at that moment he hadn't gone wrong at all. He had done everything right. And somehow he understood that everything would end up alright.

** Authors Note continued: THE END! Hahahahahah yeah I would like to thank my friend for giving me the idea for that ending. You're brilliant! This bit takes place during the war itself. So yeah. I hope you liked it! PLEASE REVIEW!**


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